


Loving Until the Cows Come Home

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon's father has a stroke, Napleon and Illya head back to Vermont to run the farm.  There are somethings an UNCLE agent should never attempt.  This is a slash redress of 'Til the Cows Come Home Affair'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Until the Cows Come Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frau_flora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_flora/gifts).



All of Illya Kuryakin’s focus was upon the here and now and the wonderful things his partner was doing to him.  Napoleon was moving with long languid thrusts, belying the trembling Illya felt in Napoleon’s hands.  They had a bet going.  Whoever out-lasted the other had to buy dinner and Napoleon was very determined not to buy dinner.

Yet the delicious friction of Napoleon’s penis brushed against Illya’s prostate took him higher and just a bit closer until Illya forgot the bet, forgot his ego, forgot everything in a vie for completion. 

Just as he felt the first pain/pleasure jabs of ejaculations shoot through his testicles and penis, he felt Napoleon stiffen, thrust hard just once and then hold rock still.

They collapsed down onto the rumpled sheets of Napoleon’s bed, panting and pleasantly spent.

“A tie, then?”  Napoleon felt himself slide from within Illya and countered the feeling of abandonment by hugging Illya close.

“To call it anything else would be an insult.” 

“I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon.”

“This is certainly heads and shoulders above filing expense reports.”  Illya wiggled out of Napoleon’s embrace and flopped back, his torso slick with sweat.

“You are looking quite beguiling, you know.”

“You can’t be serious--” The phone interrupted him.

“Who would be calling me here?”  Napoleon groaned. 

“Someone who knows your number?  Why don’t you answer it and solve the mystery?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Napoleon's 'right back' stretched into a half an hour.  If it weren’t for the fact that they were in Napoleon’s apartment, Illya would have become concerned.  More likely than foul play was the chance that Napoleon had been called by one of the several women whom he kept on a string by way of a cover story  and was making excuses for the evening.

It got to be too much and Illya finally climbed from the bed and went to the bathroom.  He cleaned up, grabbed his robe from the back of the bathroom door and then grabbed Napoleon’s at the last minute.

He walked out into the living room.  Napoleon was staring out the plate glass window.  Illya couldn’t blame him.  The view was spectacular and the cityscape was started to glow against the setting late spring sun

"What's wrong, Napoleon?  Couldn’t wiggle out of something?" Illya held out the light blue robe to him.  “Come back to bed and I’ll do my best to banish the memory.  At the lack of response, he joined the dark‑haired agent at the window, studying him.

Napoleon continued staring straight ahead, without the least indication that he'd even heard the Russian's question.

"Napoleon?"  He reached out and placed a hand on the man’s forearm.  When the hazel eyes turned towards him, he tried again.  "What's wrong?  Who was on the phone?"

"Oh, it was my mom.  Dad... " Napoleon stopped and took a deep breath.  "Dad had a heart attack.  He's in Intensive Care and the doctors don't know whether he'll make it or not."

 “Napoleon, I am truly sorry."  Illya's condolence was genuine.  He liked Napoleon's folks.  They were warm, affectionate people who took him on his own terms.  "Is there something I can do to help?"

"No, I've made all the arrangements with the airlines and Mr. Waverly.  I managed to get a flight out tonight."

"Would you like me to go with you?"  Napoleon's look was all the answer he needed.  Illya nodded and kissed Napoleon gently.  "C'mon, let's go pack."

                                                                                ****

There was something peaceful about the Vermont landscape.  There was something about it that not even the view from a window in the Intensive Care waiting room could detract from.  Illya studied it for a long time.  It brought him a solace he wished he could share with Katherine Solo

The woman sat, huddled, rocking back and forth slightly, lost in her grief and concern for the man who lay unresponsive in another room.  One by one, the family was allowed to wander in and stay for a few moments by the unconscious man’s bedside.  He wasn’t family, exactly, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter that much to the hospital staff.  Like his partner, he was allowed to go in, his mind plagued upon by the beeping and dancing lights of the various bits of equipment scattered here and there.  He’d stood by the man’s bedside, staring down at the slack, unresponsive face and wished he could pray to a god who would listen, one who would understand and leave this man alone and at peace with his family.

Illya returned to his place beside Katherine, pulling a forgotten sweater up about her shoulders.  She smiled shakily at him and he returned it, taking a cold, work‑worn hand in his own, warming it. 

 “Thank you for coming, Illya.  It’s means a lot to us that you’re here.”

“Where else would I be at a time like this?  You and your husband have always extended a welcoming hand to me.  It would be poor payment indeed to abandon you now.”

The sound of approaching footsteps brought his head up and Illya watched Napoleon and his sister, accompanied by a younger man, head back towards the waiting room.

Mom," Napoleon began, nearly as soon as he'd reached the doorway, "Dr. Marcus wants to talk to you."

"All right, then.  I know decisions have to be made."  She stood, the weight of her burden sagging her shoulders.

“Mrs. Solo, I wanted to make you aware that  your husband has a bit more time with us."  The doctor placed a kind hand on her arm.

"How much time, Doctor?" Her voice faltered and Illya sat forward, ready for the diagnosis.

"Oh, I'd say about fifteen or twenty."

"Days?  Months?"

The man smiled and shook his head. "Years, Mrs. Solo, fifteen to twenty years or at least that’s my prognosis.  With proper rest, your husband should be fine.  He will, of course, have to modify his work habits and begin to take life a bit easier, but he should make a full recovery. 

Tears that had been held firmly reined in began to flow freely now as she sagged with relief.  Napoleon was there instantly, holding and supporting her as she sobbed into his shoulder.  Napoleon held her and rocked back and forth, whispering soft words of endearment and support into her ear.  His sister was immediately there on the other side, each sibling hugging each other and their mother.

Feeling a bit like an outsider, Illya returned his gaze to the window, thinking of the landscape, thinking of his own family back in Russia.  It was times like these that he very much felt a stranger in this country, even though he now often thought of it as home.  He knew he could never live in Russia again, at least not as a free man.  He’d tasted too much freedom to be able to go back to the oppressive rule of his homeland.  Yet, it would be nice to visit and wander down the familiar streets of his childhood.

Then Katherine reached out her hand to Illya.  When he took it, she pulled him into the embrace.

"Thank you, Dr. Marcus, that's great news," Napoleon was saying to the doctor.  The age of the man had initially surprised him, but it was just another reminder that no matter how young he felt, time was marching on.

"Don't thank me; you've got one tough old bird for a father.   I think he should be back into the flow of things in six weeks or so."

"But," Katherine's head came up.  "Who's going to run the farm while he's here?  I can't do it alone."

"Oh, don't worry, Mom.  Illya and I will help."

                                                                                ****

Illya looked up from the pile of sawdust he'd been shoveling for the past hour.  "'Oh, don't worry, Mom.  Illya and I will help.'  You're marvelous, you know that?"  He sneezed as dust got up his nose and returned to his task.  It hadn’t seemed like much of a hardship when they’d started, but the heat, humidity and dust were taking their toll upon his good nature.

Napoleon Solo looked over at his possibly former friend and sighed.  "I didn't know what else to say. Anyhow, it's just for a couple of weeks, until the hired hand gets back from his vacation.  Besides, I don't know what you're worried about.  There can't be too much to this. I mean, Dad is nearly sixty.  If he can do this, we can.  We're UNCLE agents, we can do anything."  He cast a look at his watch and straightened painfully, setting his shovel aside.  "And as much fun as this is, it’s about time to start the milking."

"Milking?  That has an ominous sound to it.  Why am I getting such a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, old friend?"

"The cows – they have to be milked twice a day.  Mom should be bringing them in from the field anytime now.  Come on and I'll show you how to put a milking machine together, providing I remember.  They tell me it's like falling off a bike.  You never forget once you learn."

 

                                                                                                ****

It didn't prove to be quite that easy but, after a bit of trial and error, they got one milking machine together.  By this time the cows were in their stanchions and munching away on the grain and hay put down by Katherine and Josie.

"How's it coming, boys?"  Katherine stuck her head into the milking parlor and nearly laughed.  It was hard to see any trace of the refined, polished man‑about‑town in the harried, shirt tail out man who struggled with hose and equipment.  "Do you want me to do that, son?"

"Ah, no, I think I've got it now."  Napoleon triumphantly stuck an air hose onto the motor and stood. "How's that look?"

"You’ll send the cows running for the hills.  They take one look at that and they cross their legs in self defense.  Perhaps you’d best let me get them together for you.”  Katherine bent over the machine experience sending her hands rapidly about her task.  “This ring goes here and you need to seat the pump before you attach the hose, like this.”  She spoke softly, evenly, so much like her son in that respect.   She pushed the assembled machine towards Napoleon.  “Napoleon, my love, you and Josie can start the milking.  And don't forget to turn the pump on first.  It needs to pressurize before you start pumping.  Illya, if you’ll watch, I think you’ll get the hang of it faster.”

It did prove an easier task when the person assembling knew what they were doing and Illya carried two machines into the main part of the barn.  The large brown eyes of the cows watched him as he passed and a bevy of cats scattered when he ventured too close to their food dish.

 “Josie, where do you want these?” Illya shouted at the woman.  She pushed her kerchief back onto her head and pointed to between two animals.

 “Over there, Napoleon will show you how to put one on.”

Mindful of the swishing tails and potential kick hazard, Illya shoved his way between the two caramel brown bodies, set the machines down and waited.  A moment later, his partner appeared and gave one of the cows a slap on her rump to move her over.

 “This part I remember way too well,” he admitted, squatting and setting down a small bucket of brownish liquid. “First you wipe down the udder like this.”  He squeezed water out of the rag and proceeded to wash off the udder and teats of the cow. He glanced over at the Russian and started to chuckle.  “Illya, you’re blushing, old son.”

 “It just seems rather…intimate.”  Illya could feel his cheeks warming and he studied the cement floor. “I haven’t been properly introduced or anything.” 

 “You’ll waltz into a honey trap without any worries, but this makes you anxious.  I will never understand you, Kuryakin.  Cow 421, this will be your waiter this evening. Illya, this is Cow 421.  She’s had three calves and likes hay, long walks in the grass and chewing her cud.  Is that better?” 

Illya laughed and nodded.  “Yes, thank you.  Now I only feel like a masher as opposed to an opportunist.

Napoleon grinned and continued.  “Once you do that, this end of the hose goes up here and you turn the air spigot.”   Napoleon twisted on the air gauge and demonstrated with a finger and a teat cup.  “Then you take these and attach one to each teat. Got it?”

 “Yes.”

 “It usually takes about fifteen minutes or so to finish the milking.  Gently pull the teat cup and it will come off.  You just hook it back onto the machine thus.”  Napoleon demonstrated.  “Don’t let them hit the ground or we have to take the machine apart and clean it.  Turn off the spigot and then you carry the container out and dump it into the center tank there and start all over again.”  Napoleon rubbed his hand affectionately over the cow’s flank and smiled.  “It seems like a hundred years since I’ve done this.”

 “And it will be an equal amount of time before I let you forget this.”  Illya winced as the cow’s tail caught him.  “I can’t wait for our next staff meeting.”

                                                                                                ****

Illya slumped onto a couch in the living room and shut his eyes.  Every muscle in his body ached and he wondered how he'd ever nursed the crazy idea that he was in shape.  He raised his head and looked over at his partner, sprawled out in an armchair.

"Napoleon, don't take this wrong, but if I could get up, I'd beat you to within an inch of your life."

"If I could get up, I’d help you.  It gets better, Illya, maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but it does.  After some dinner, a hot shower, a handful of aspirin, and some sleep, you'll see."

"Speaking of such, supper is ready," Katherine said, sticking her head into the living room.

  "Don't have to call me twice."  Napoleon struggled to his feet and held out a hand to Illya.  Illya looked at it and then at his partner's face.  Illya reached for it and jerked down, catching Napoleon off guard.  Together, they tumbled to the floor and wrestled for a minute before the heavier Napoleon prevailed.  "C'mon, say it."

"To you?  Never!"  Illya twisted, attempting to hoist up against the pin.  It was a game they played both on the wrestling mat and in bed.  Each one was constantly bucking for position over the other.

"Honestly!" The voice from behind them made them pause in their rough housing.  "After all the work you did today, you still have the energy to fight? Napoleon, let Illya up – you hurt him and you have to do everything yourself.”

 His mother was the voice of reason and, obligingly, Napoleon stood and offered a cautious hand down to his partner.  Illya regarded it for a moment and decided that Napoleon wouldn't try anything ‑ not with his mother in the same room.

 He was wrong.  He had barely gotten to his feet before Napoleon spun him, twisting the Russian's arm up behind his shoulder blades.

"Ah, Napoleon!"  Illya let out an involuntary yell as his arm went up a fraction higher than it was designed to go and he stood on his tiptoes.

 "Then say it!  Say Uncle."

"You'll have to break my arm first."

 Suddenly the pressure was relieved at the sound of a sharp crack.  At first, Illya feared it was his arm, but at Napoleon's yelp of pain, he realized it was merely the sound of Katherine Solo's wooden spoon against Napoleon’s flesh.

Napoleon rubbed a bruised thigh with an air of hurt dignity as his mother pointed to the kitchen.

"You may be bigger than me and stronger, Napoleon Solo, but I'm still your mother."  She turned to Illya and threateningly waved the spoon.  "And you'll get one, too."

Illya raised his hands in mock surrender.  "I'm going! I'm going!"

                                                                                ****

Illya stared up at the pattern stamped in the metal ceiling above Napoleon’s bed.  It seemed odd to him that with three other bedrooms in the farmhouse, Katherine had settled him in here with Napoleon.  Or perhaps she was more sly than she let on.

Napoleon shut the door to his old room and shuffled to the bed.  He sighed and climbed in.  “Is there anything that feels as good as your childhood bed?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Didn’t have a childhood bed?”

“Didn’t have much of a childhood.”  At Napoleon’s stricken look, Illya smiled gently.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  With as many kids as Mama had, you grew up fast.  By the time I was seven, I was looking after my younger siblings while Mama was taking care of her parents.  Not much time to play between that and dodging the war.”

Napoleon took Illya’s hand, entwining their fingers.  “I forget how differently our lives started out.”

“The past doesn’t matter.”  Illya squeezed gently.  “Only this part matters to me.”

There was a soft knock on the door and the men reluctantly released each other.  “Yes, Mom?”

“Not Mom, me.”  Josie stuck her head in.  “I’m going to be here to help with morning chores tomorrow.  Do you think you could take me to Barre in the afternoon to catch my plane?”

“Heading home?”

“Yeah, it’s a long flight back to Germany.”  She pushed opened the door.  She was wearing one of her father’s night shirts and it came down past her knees.

“What possessed Doug to move the family to Germany?”

“I don’t really know, but it was very exciting at first.  They kids love it and the people there are great and the salary is fabulous.  It’s just a long way from here.”  She paused and sighed.  “Maybe it’s time to rethink that.  Good night, guys.”

Illya waited for the door to close.  “Are you going to read or should I turn out the light?”

“Off, please.  Four o’clock is going to come fast enough without my reading half the night.”

“Four?  In the morning?”  Illya clicked off the lamp and flopped back.  “If you are trying to kill me, Napoleon, there are other more efficient ways.”

Napoleon rolled onto his side and propped up his head on his hand.  “Do tell?”

“Well, there’s death by shooting, death by knifing, death by strangulation.”

“Death by sex?”

“Hmm, haven’t heard of that one.”

“Permit me to demonstrate.”

                                                                ****

  Illya Kuryakin half turned in the tractor seat and watched the mowing machine behind him.  He'd had to admit that Napoleon was right, as usual.  The first few days had been bad, but soon they blended into a sense of rhythm.  In fact, he was getting very used to his time here.  No one was shooting at him, trying to tie him up or whack him over the head, unless you counted his partner, of course.  True, he could still barely walk from the barn to the house at the end of the day, but he certainly was sleeping at night ‑ more soundly than he had in years. 

There was also a noticeable change in Napoleon.  His partner was more relaxed that Illya had seen in years.  He was laughing more and their sex was incredible.  Illya couldn’t believe that their lovemaking could ever be better.  He was wrong.  There was something in the air here.

 A horn drew his attention and he saw a far‑off figure on the road waving to him.  Obviously, lunch had arrived along with a welcome respite from the sun.  He cut the tractor's motor and climbed down, pulling his tee shirt away from his sweating body.  The shirt would be gone by the afternoon.  He finger combed his hair into some send of order as he walked across the mowed field towards the road.

"How's it going, Illya dear?"  Katherine looked up from her task of setting out sandwiches on a blanket.  As he sank down, she poured out a glass of cold milk and held it out to him.

"Hot and very humid today.  How's Mr. Solo?"  He reached for the proffered glass, draining it in just a few swallows. He was never much of a milk drinker as a child and it was amazing how refreshing it tasted.  Immediately, it was refilled.

 

"Fine.  The doctors say he should be ready to be transferred to a rehabilitation center here in Chelsea.  That will make the drive easier.   Don’t drink that too fast or you’ll get cramps."  She pulled aluminum foil off a bowl of potato salad and handed it to him.  "I can't say I won't be happy to have him home, but I'm going to miss you boys.  I don't know what I would have done without you.  Especially since Josie is so far away now.  It makes me feel better just having you here."

Illya glanced up, slightly embarrassed by the praise. "You would have survived ‑ you're stronger than you think. Napoleon's the same way.  Still, I have to admit I have a whole new respect for farmers."

"What about farmers?"  Napoleon Solo plopped down beside his partner and leaned over to deposit a kiss on his mother's cheek before reaching for his own glass and plate.

"Illya was saying he's got more respect for them.  I'm just so pleased that things are going so well."

Napoleon smiled.  "Me, too, Mom.”

They ate quickly, both watching the clouds gathering on the horizon.

“What happens if the rain comes this afternoon?”

“Not much.”  Napoleon helped himself to a piece of cold chicken.  “We’ll do what we can and come back tomorrow and finish.  It’ll take it a few days to dry out enough for us to bale it.”

“Bale it?”  Illya looked doubtful.  This didn’t have a pleasant sound to it.  He didn’t know how they got it into the rectangular shape and wrapper with twine, but it didn’t look like fun.

“Don’t worry, we have a baler.  All we have to do is stack it in the hay truck.”

“Oh.”  Illya stretched out on the blanket and enjoyed the breeze.  Even though the tractor was covered, it was still very hot.  He was fine as long as he kept going, but the minute he stopped, he’d get drowsy.  Without meaning to, his eyes drifted shut.

He heard Napoleon say, “I think you’re going to need to grab that elephant by the tusks.”

“Elephant?”  Katherine sounds confused.

“The big invisible one that has been in the room since Dad’s attack occurred.  I think you and Dad should consider selling out the farm sooner than later.  With Doug in Germany now, there's no way he's going to come back and take it over like you’d planned.” 

"We...talk about it, now and then.  I just don't know how your father will handle it.  He's worked this place all his life, just like his father did.  You don’t think that you and Illya would like...I mean…after UNCLE, it wouldn’t be very glamorous, I suppose.  You two wouldn’t consider taking over?"

“Mom ,whatever you might have heard, Illya and I aren’t joined at the hip.  When he finishes his time with UNCLE, he’ll have a decision to make, whether to stay here or go back to Russia.”  Illya almost smiled at the thought.  He would never leave Napoleon, not even if the man did decide to take up farming.    Napoleon continued, “Somehow, I don’t think settling down on a farm is going to play into that decision very much.  As for myself, I am a child of the country, but a man of the world.  I would never be happy here.  Dad has worked hard his whole life.  Both of you deserve to play for a while.  You're still young.  You can travel, go places and do things now.  When he's gone, the memories will be better to have rather than the regrets."

 "Napoleon, you and your silvered tongue.  You should talk to your father.  You could probably convince him to run for public office."  He heard Katherine laughed and begin to gather things together. "I'd best get off.  We're expecting a grain shipment this afternoon and Hank will never be able to get it backed in if I don't direct traffic.  You and Illya rest a bit more."

"No, we'd better not.  It looks like it could rain." Illya felt his leg slapped and came awake with a jerk.  Napoleon pointed to the field and said briefly, "Back to the salt mines, my friend."

Illya nodded, grabbed another sandwich, and trudged back towards the tractor, still a little groggy.  He hadn’t even been aware that he’d nodded off during Napoleon’s conversation with his mother.  It was a testament to just how tired he really was.

"Napoleon, what a taskmaster you've become."  His mother clicked her tongue in disapproval.  "He looks like he's about to drop."

 "Only once, when we were first paired together did I make that mistake, Mom.  Never underestimate the Russian."  He stood and hefted the lunch basket for her and offered her an arm.  "Madam, your limo awaits."

"Honestly."

                                                                                ****

 

Illya didn’t even realize it was raining until the first few fat drops hit his arm.  He cut the tractor’s engine and nearly jumped at the sound of thunder.  He looked around and saw lightning flash across the sky.  Napoleon was waving to him and pointing to the equipment barn.  He was gesturing wildly and Illya abruptly understood.  Sitting on a big metal vehicle might not be the safest place in a thunderstorm.

He climbed down and headed across the field, keeping his head down.  He just hit the road when the rain really started to come down and he followed Napoleon into the barn.

Inside the drumming of the rain on the roof was nearly deafening.

“That storm came up fast,” Napoleon said, pulling off his tee shirt and wringing it out.  Illya followed suit.  

“How long will it last?”

“This time of the year, it’s hard to say.  Maybe just a few minutes, could be an hour.  It was pretty humid.”  Napoleon pulled a tarp from a pile of equipment and shook it out.  Then he tossed it over onto a pile of hay and sat down.  “Nothing to do but wait it out.”  He flopped back and studied the rafters.

“Nothing?”  One corner of Illya’s mouth crept up as he joined Napoleon on the tarp.  “Surely you could think of something to do.”

Napoleon’s eyes got a lazy look to them.  “Well, I could think of one or two things…”

Illya reached out and brushed Napoleon’s hair from his forehead.  “I like you with your hair longer.”

“I keep meaning to get it cut.  Just haven’t gotten there yet.”  He looked around and grinned.  “I was hoping it was still here.”  He got to his feet and walked over to a stack of tools.

“What?”

“Dad keeps bottles of this everywhere.”  Napoleon held up a bottle of Corn Husker’s Lotion.

“What is it?”

“Let’s just say we are going to add one more item to its many uses.”  Napoleon poured a handful of the thick viscous lotion into one hand and then rubbed it with the other.  He grinned, wagged his eyebrows and made a motion.  “Mr. Kuryakin, assume the position.”

“Oh, you sweet talker.  Whoever said romance was dead?”

“I’m as romantic as the next guy, but we have a short amount of time and I intend to make the most of it.”

 

 

                                                                                 ****

Illya came awake with a start, but wasn’t exactly sure what had woken him.  Napoleon shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake.  He listened, but the rain was still coming down and the din, while soothing, also was an effective deadening device.

Illya stretched and winced at the stiffness in his back.  He’s not made love on a pile of hay for a long time and now he remembered why.  His hand caught the bottle of Corn Husker’s Lotion and he grinned.  He was going to have the softest ass and penis around.

Then he froze at the sound a vehicle approaching.  “Napoleon, wake up.”

His partner came awake instantly.  “What’s wrong?” 

Illya tossed him his tee shirt.  “We have company.”

Napoleon glanced at his watch and groaned. “It’s Mom.”  There was a happy _toot, toot_ of a car horn and Napoleon jumped up to yank his still damp pants on. 

Illya hurriedly dressed and then dragged his fingers through his hair, brushing the hay out and trying to make the love-mussed hair behave.

“Hello!”  Katherine called.

“Coming!” Napoleon shouted back and Illya snickered. 

“Again?”

Napoleon got his pants zipped and chuckled at the innuendo.  “No, I think I’m good for the moment.”

“You are good all the time, Napoleon.  We better hurry or your mother will fear the worst.”

Napoleon opened the door to the equipment barn and waved to his mother.  They made a mad dash from the protection of the shed to the vehicle.  Katherine watched them climb in and smiled. 

“So I take you two got caught up on your sleep?”

“Why would you say that, Mom?”

“You have hay in your hair and Illya’s shirt is one backwards.”

“Oh.”  Illya looked down.  “I was using it as a pillow.”  Not for his head necessarily.  He’d stuffed it under the small of his back to increase Napoleon’s penetration.  She didn’t need to know that, though.

“I thought you both looked better rested than when I saw you at lunch.”

“What will happen to the hay?  Is it ruined?”  Illya wiped the condensation from his window and looked out at the tractor, now sitting forgotten in the middle of the field.

“Nope, we’ll come back tomorrow and finish what we started,” Napoleon said, winking.  “No rest for the wicked or us either.”

 

                                                                                ****

Illya Kuryakin hung onto the pail with all his might and tried to keep another calf away from the tattered remains of his back pocket.  It was already sopping from a previous assault that had sent him sprawling in the manure and hay.  It would appear that one little bull was already feeling his blood.

"Hold on," he complained to the calf behind him. "You'll be next.  I don't know how you get so hungry.  It seems like all you do is eat and poop."

 A jerk from the feeding animal sent a cascade of milk and formula over his boots and he groaned.  At least, Napoleon only had to worry about shoveling.  A wet nose and raspy tongue caught the inside of a thigh and he jumped as if goosed.  It was too rapid a movement and the calves darted away, including the one feeding.  It yanked its head out of the bucket, catching Illya's finger as it did and pulling him off balance. Illya managed to save himself from a face full of ... hay, but only by the slightest of margins.  The throbbing of a knee meant he'd probably scraped it.  Nothing else worse could possibly happen.

 He climbed to his feet, retrieved the fallen pail and turned to leave the pen, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Mr. Waverly standing there, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

"Good morning, sir."  Illya attempted to act casual, but considering that all he was wearing was a manure smeared tee shirt, something that had been jeans in a former life and his boots, he knew that casual was more than he could hope for.  "Finally, someone has come to save me from all of this.  Take me away, sir, and I promise I'll never complain about desk work again."

 "Nice try, Illya."  Napoleon appeared from behind the older man.  "He's on his way to Canada to a peace conference."

 "Do you need some help, sir?"  Illya was hopeful, but negligent of the calves.  They had immediately lost their fear of the strangers and saw only the feeding bucket in Illya's hand and a provocatively dangling back pocket.  One of the braver calves made a grab for the cloth.

At Illya's yell, Waverly stepped back, glancing about him at the foreign environment.  Illya spun to glare at the bawling calf and a good portion of his jean pocket that was now lying on the floor of the pen.

 "Napoleon, I think you'd better take Mr. Waverly up to meet your mother, unless he wants to be witness to murder.  Then he’s more than welcome to stay.  There will be veal on the menu tonight."

                                                                                ****

Illya watched Napoleon’s parents from the corner of his eye and wondered what the woman was smiling about.  She was probably just happy to have her husband home. Julius Solo sat on the porch in the late afternoon sun and relaxed, partially dozing.  Katherine sat, a grey sweater about her shoulders chatting with Mr. Waverly as she held her husband’s hand.

Mr. Waverly had proved quite the charmer and actually gotten a promise from Napoleon’s parents to come to New York to visit.   With any luck, Napoleon would have some time to sightsee with them.  Illya knew he would be content to hold down the fort.

Illya caught the football Napoleon tossed to him easily and threw it back to Napoleon.  He was sincerely going to miss this place, even more than he had after his other visits.  Perhaps Napoleon was wrong. Farming seemed a more honest way of making a living than he currently was pursuing.    Things had gotten easier for them since Julius had gotten home and taken on additional hired hands.  Still, even without the need, both took an active role on the farm; Napoleon kept milking and Illya struggled with the calves.

A burst of laughter came from the porch and both agents looked over at the trio.  Napoleon trotted up to him and they started to walk back to the farmhouse.

“I hope that’s us someday,” Napoleon murmured.

“You mean old?”

“Well, that as well, but I mean together, still in love.”

“It’s a nice dream.”

“With any luck, a nicer reality.  You ready for bed?”  They neared the porch.

“Isn’t there chocolate cake for dessert?”

“I thought maybe I could be dessert tonight.”

“Mm, sounds good, but chocolate cake…”

“You boys heading up?”  Katherine closed her sweater up a bit more.  It was starting to get a bit chilly.

“We are.  Four o’clock comes early.”

“Never thought I’d see the day I’d outlast you, Napoleon,” She teased. “Well, take some of that cake with you.”

“Woman after my own heart.” Illya said, nodding his excusal to Waverly and Julius.  “Sleep well, sir.”

“I will.  My driver should be along any minute.  They have my jet standing by in Berlin.  I will see you both back in New York next week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Solo?”

“Sir?”

“Get a haircut.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
